The Brentford Triangle Read Online Free PDF Page A

“but it is beginning to perk up. Cheers.”
    “Been to the allotment then?” the ancient enquired, placing his empty glass upon the counter and indicating the mud-bespattered condition of the two secret golfers.
    “Weeding,” said John, making motions with an ethereal shovel. “Spring up overnight, those lads.”
    Old Pete nodded sagely. “It is strange,” said he, “what things spring up upon an allotment patch overnight. Take my humble plot for instance. You’ll never guess what I found on it the other day.”
    Pooley, who had a kind of intuition regarding these things, kept silent.
    “Golf tee,” said Old Pete in a harsh stage whisper.
    “Large rum over here,” said Omally, rattling Pete’s glass upon the bar.
    “How unexpected,” said the wily old bastard. “Bless you boys, bless you.”
    Omally drank a moment in silence. “Now tell me, Pete,” said he, when the ancient had taken several sips upon his freeman’s, “how spins the world for you at the present hour?”
    Old Pete grunted non-committally. “It is a case of mustn’t grumble, I suppose.”
    “No news then? Nothing out of the ordinary or untoward on the go?”
    “Not that I can think of, did you have anything in mind?”
    “No, nothing.” Omally made a breezy gesture. “It is just, well, to be frank, Pete, it is well known that little, if anything, going on in the Borough ever slips by you, as your present drink will bear testimony to. I just thought that you might have some little snippet of interest up your four-buttoned sleeve.”
    “You couldn’t be a little more specific?” said Pete, draining his glass. “So much happens hereabouts, as you know, to keep one’s finger upon the pulse is a thirsty business.”
    Omally looked towards Pooley, who shrugged. “Same again please, Neville,” said John to the part-time barman, who had been hovering near at hand, ears waggling.
    “All the way round?”
    “All the way.”
    The honours were done and to Neville’s disgust Old Pete drew his benefactors away to the side-table, beneath which his dog Chips lay feigning slumber. The three men seated themselves. “Would I be right in assuming that you have something on your mind, Omally?” the ancient asked.
    “It is but a trivial matter,” Omally lied, “hardly worth wasting your valuable time with, but I must confess that it causes me some perplexity.”
    “Ask on then, John, you are two drinks to credit and I am by no means a hard man to deal with.”
    “Then I shall get straight to the point. Have you seen a suspicious-looking character skulking around, on, or near the sacred soil of our allotments?”
    Old Pete nodded. “Of course I have,” he answered, “both there and elsewhere.”
    “Wearing a grey coverall suit, sallow complexion, high cheek-bones?”
    “Looks like a young Jack Palance?”
    “The very same.”
    “I have seen several.”
    “Oh dear,” said Pooley, “more than one?”
    “At least four. Take my warning, they have the mark of officialdom upon them. I saw one last week down by the cut, one yesterday on the corner of the Ealing Road, and there is one drinking this very minute in the far corner over by the gents’ bog.”
    “What?” Omally’s head spun in the direction of the gents’. There in the darkened corner stood a sinister figure in a grey uniform. His features were blurry in the dun light, but it was almost certainly the same individual that he and Pooley had spied out on the allotment not half an hour earlier. As Omally watched, the figure turned his back upon them and strode through the door into the gents’.
    “All right, Pete,” said Omally, turning to the ancient. “Who is he?”
    Old Pete shrugged. “There you have me, I’m afraid. When first I saw them I took them for Council workers. They had some kind of instruments mounted on a tripod and appeared to be marking the ground. But I never got close enough to question them. They slipped away into side roads or off down alleyways